The Later Lives of the Girls of the Year
by VeraLovesFanFics
Summary: Do you ever wonder what happens in a Girl of the Year's life after her time is up? All your answers can be found here, from your favorite characters to your not-so-favorite characters. These were written purely for fun, so don't take any offense if I torture your favorite character. ;)
1. Lanie's Later Life

**A/N: Welcome to my second fic! This is a collection of short one-shots, pondering what happened after the Girl of the Year's time in the spotlight was up. They all take place in the same universe, so some characters and/or relations carry over from one story to the next. My first few were a little too short for my liking, so I'm working on revising them and reuploading soon. For now, enjoy, and I'll update when I can.**

* * *

**Lanie's Later Life**

"Ms. Holland, PLEASE stay focused!" the tour guide, Mr. Ron, screeched into the microphone. The other naturalists snickered. Lanie snapped to attention.

"What? I mean, uh..." she said. More giggles.

"Ms. Holland! I am starting to doubt your dedication to the mission," Ron exclaimed. Lanie's heart began to race.

"I am dedicated! I spent three months trying to apply for a spot on the mission crew!" she retorted. Mr. Ron put down the microphone and sauntered down the aisle to where Lanie sat by herself.

"Your work on this mission hardly shows it," he said through gritted teeth. Lanie was near tears. She HAD put in a lot of work to have a chance at this great opportunity. She had dreamed since she was young of touring Africa with other naturalists, cataloguing new plant and animal life, and making life-long friendships. On her resume, she realized how many things she had already accomplished; discovering a new species of butterfly, breaking the world record for number of waffles eaten in one minute, and being the American Girl of the Year in 2010. Looking back on it, perhaps her popularity that year was what caused all of her relationships to fall apart. Mr. Ron interrupted her thoughts.

"Lanie, I am truly sorry, but upon the next sight of an airport, you will be sent home. You have been too...unhelpful to this mission," he said. She couldn't hold in her feelings any longer. Lanie burst in to tears, and threw herself off of the tour van. Everyone gasped, then shrugged, and continued on the tour. Mr. Ron was concerned for the amount of paperwork he would have to do. He resumed his place at the front of the bus. Suddenly, the cloudy African sky was lit up by a ghostly strike of lightning. The naturalists oohed and ahhed and snapped pictures. By chance, a second bolt lept from the sky, and smote down the unsuspecting Mr. Ron. Gasps could be heard for miles across the savannah as the naturalists gawked at the charred body of Mr. Ron. Somehow, Lanie had miraculously recovered from her dive off the van, and had also caught up to it. On instinct, the naturalists began worshipping her as their merciful goddess, and everyone lived happily ever after. Sort of. (There was no internet, so they all really went crazy.) The end.


	2. Isabelle's (sort of) Later Life

**Isabelle's (sort of) Later Life**

"I've always wanted to go to Russia to study ballet!" Isabelle squealed in that annoying voice of hers.

"Are you sure you'll be ok?" her mother asked.

"Well,...I don't have any spending money, but *sob* I'll manage," Izzy whined.

"Nonsense!" her father exclaimed, "Here's my third credit card!"

"Oh Daddy! You're too sweet!" Isabelle exclaimed.

"You'd better hurry up and go through security now, darling," her mother said, "Jade called to say she loves you."

"We love you too," her father said tenderly. The three embraced, and Isabelle skipped off to

security. She strode confidently through, placed her bags in the scanner, collected them, and headed to the atrium. Izzy sat down, and glanced at the digital screen of boarding times.

"In one hour, I'll be headed to Russia!" Isabelle said to herself excitedly. An hour of boring waiting, watching, and blowing $20 at the gift shop later, the intercom buzzed.

"Flight 666 to begin boarding. All passengers, please report to the boarding gate. Thank you," the automated voice said. Isabelle grinned, gathered up her five piece Vera Bradley luggage set, and headed to the gate.

"Miss? Hello miss?" a voice said from behind her. She jumped, and turned around.

"Who are you?" Isabelle asked.

"Head officer of airport security. You'll have to come with me," he said. Isabelle nodded, and followed him to his office.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the stool in front of his desk. Izzy sat.

"Mister, I'm sorry, but I REALLY need to get on that flight!" she cried.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," the security official said.

"Why ever not?" Isabelle asked.

"You're under arrest," he said.

"Why?" she yelled.

"Russia has requested you be detained before poisoning their country with your whiny privileged attitude, horrific dancing, and sparkle vomit fashions," he said calmly. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Isabelle, crying, dropped her luggage and ran. She burst through the first window she came to, never to be seen again.

"Izzy!" the guard cried, "Izzy! It was a joke!" he yelled, throwing down his cap, "I thought you would realize I was your father," he sobbed, "It's April Fool's Day."


	3. Marisol's Later Life

**Marisol's Later Life**

Marisol put on her dance sweater and skirt, gathered up her things, and headed out of the studio. It was a sunny day in Chicago, but the wind off Lake Michigan gave a crisp chill to the air. Everything in Marisol's life felt perfect. Sure, she was like any normal person and had to worry about paying bills, cooking, cleaning, and most importantly, dancing. She about to audition for the New York City Rockettes, but she still had a soft spot for ballet. Her professional training could only help in her ascension to fame. These happy thought swirled around in Marisol's head as she walked home. As she was walking, something caught her attention. It was a fluffy, dirty kitten peeking out of a storm drain.

"Aww, you poor little thing!" Marisol cooed. She knelt down to see the cat, which crawled out timidly.

"You remind me of my old cat, Rascal," she told the kitten as he circled around her. Marisol began the stifle a few tears. Her childhood cat, Rascal, had been put down a few years ago due to stomach cancer. Marisol was happy he wasn't suffering, but putting down the cat you grew up with is hard to do. The kitten came up next to Mari and nuzzled against her leg.

"I'll take you home, ok? You sweet little fuzzball!" she exclaimed, not thinking before scooping the cat up and continuing on her way home. Mostly because of her nostalgic feelings towards fluffy little kittens. Marisol kept walking home with the warm little bundle of joy. The cat purred softly. On the rest of the path home, she didn't see anything else unusual, which was a relief. That is, until she got home. Marisol was surprised to see a middle aged woman with blunt cut blonde hair and a stern expression on the doorstep of her quaint little home.

"Hello, how may I help you?" Marisol asked as she came to the steps, balancing the cat. The woman smiled.

"Hello. I'm Blanche Palmer. I am Isabelle Palmer's mother." she said.

"Oh! I think I saw something in the news about her..." Marisol said.

"Yes. Well, the news headlines tend to... stretch the truth," Blanche said. Marisol was skeptical.

"Erm, what do you mean by that?" she asked.

"Well, the headlines say my daughter flung herself out of a window over being detained, but the truth is that the guard caused her distress by telling her the news of her father's disappearance, and she simply couldn't go on without him!" Blanche worked up a few tears. NOW Marisol remembered who the Palmers were, and she internally rolled her eyes.

"I hate to be rude, but what is it you want?" she asked.

"A donation. To the Palmer Society of Children's Mental Well-Being. Or, for short, the PSCMWB," Blanche stated proudly. At this point, Marisol had forgotten about the fluffy little kitty in her arms; she was so annoyed by this mellow dramatic dance mom coming and begging for money. Mari had a hunch that any donations would NOT be going toward the "Palmer Society of Children's Mental Well-Being" or whatever.

"Well, I'm a little short on funds now, and I don't get paid until Friday..." Marisol quickly thought up a little lie.

"That's ok! I can ask you workplace to donate! All donations are tax-deductable, don't you know?" Blanche said.

"Oh no, that's quite alright," Marisol pushed past the woman to get to her front door. The little cat in her arms chose that moment to leap to freedom. It was then that Blanche remembered her cat allergy. Marisol, using the diversion to her aid, silently said goodbye to the kitten and slammed the door. Blanche screamed.

"Help! Somebody help me! Help!" she squealed as the cat danced around her. It ran off, and Blanche breathed a sigh of relief. However, the cat positioned itself on the top rail of Marisol's porch, ready to pounce. Blanche slowly turned around, and then, her sqeals were drowned out by the fluffball tackling her and scratching her face. Marisol watched the horror unfold from the comfort of her couch, yet had enough sympathy to call 911 after the animal scurried off.

**_In Loving Memory of Blanche Palmer_**

_Blanche Palmer, age 42, was pronounced dead at 9:42 am this morning due to a violent case of rabies. She was a loved and cherished member of the Palmer family, and will be missed by many. Her will stated that her obituary be published in the national paper and state the following:_

_"Have pity on my poor soul! Think of the daughter and husband I lost to seemingly unknown reasons. Think of how my eldest daughter, Jade Palmer, will accomplish great things and none of us will have lived to see them! Donate to the Palmer Society of Children's Mental Well-Being to help other families that were like ours._

_~Blanche B. Palmer"_

April 21, 2021

Marisol nearly spat out her coffee upon reading Blanche's obituary. The nerve of that woman, even posthumously! Sure it had been a while since their "tragic" meeting, but she still replayed their conversation in her head. However, now Marisol learned a valuable lesson: never pick random animals up on the side of the street, no matter how nostalgia clouds your vision.


End file.
